Party pooper

Sometimes I hear myself saying, “George, don’t even think about it,” or, “Drop it! DROP it!” 

And the It is poop. Tiny Dog’s deposit on her piddle pad.

You have to get right on the clean-up or someone else (G) gets there first. And FYI, she’s a big kisser. It’s her M.O.

George is what you a call a Fire constitution in acupuncture talk. Vocal, happy, loves to make out, excitable. She goes nuts over guests when they come to the door, tucking her tail and ears, winding up her whining, and spinning from couch to guest’s feet to couch, in a HEY YOU! YOU, I LOVE YOU! For certain special persons, she might pee a little. She just can’t take it.

Then she sits in your lap, showing off her soft pink belly and all her nipples, jamming her red tongue in your mouth when you stop petting her. 

A recent guest offered to take her home. George had been on her lap the entire evening, tucked in, and then finally sleepy. We kindly declined.

George has other nasty habits. The same, but outside. It all started when Tiny Dog got fancy freeze-dried food with meat and veggies, that was low fat, after she had pancreatitis. This food was delicious, apparently, even after digested once, thought George.

Then you add in a partly house-broken chihua, and it’s snack time twice/day. We can barely talk about it at home. I am pretty sure an intervention with George will accomplish only more kisses, where she flops over to show you how pretty her belly is.